“I don’t know. Maybe—” She broke off as a door slammed.
All of them, Cookie included, tensed to run. Especially, Miri thought, if Flo reappeared with a shotgun in her hands.
But it wasn’t Flo.
A very pretty teenage girl floated across the porch and down the stairs. Miri had always thought that was an authorish way of saying that someone was graceful, because, obviously, nobody floated except in water. But this girl seemed to. She seemed to hover ever so slightly above the surface of the stairs as she descended. How the heck does she do that? wondered Miri, scrutinizing the girl’s feet. No, she wasn’t floating; she was walking like a regular person. Miri could see the tips of her shoes touch the wood. But she moved so lightly, her long, dark hair trailing behind her. Miri watched in admiring fascination as the girl skimmed over the stairs that Miri and Molly had so recently stumbled down and then made quickly for the very cluster of trees where they were hiding.
Molly and Miri drew deeper into the shadows, but they didn’t run. As the girl came closer, Miri noticed her bright, thick-lashed eyes and her eager smile. She also noticed that the girl was wearing a nightgown. This was the one Flo had been yelling at in the kitchen. Miri relaxed. Any enemy of Flo’s was a friend of theirs.
The unknown girl came to a halt and peered uncertainly into the veil of leaves. After a moment, she said softly, “If you’re still there, would you please come out? I won’t hurt you or tell anyone about you.”
Shifting Cookie into the crook of her arm, Miri nudged Molly. Should we? Molly didn’t respond.
“Please?” coaxed the girl.
Without warning, Molly stumbled forward. Miri, startled, followed.
The girl smiled happily. “Well, hello!” she said. There was a pause. “Are you-all hungry? I can get you some bread and butter. Or something else, anything you’d prefer. I don’t know what Gypsies like,” she added.
Miri waited for Molly to answer, but she didn’t. “We’re not exactly Gypsies,” explained Miri hesitantly, hoping the girl wouldn’t ask her who, then, they were.
Her face fell. “Really? Blast!” Then she looked worried again. “Excuse me. I’m sure you’re very nice anyway. It’s just that I’ve been searching for Gypsies for years.” Her eyes ran over Miri’s and Molly’s clothes. “You sure you’re not Gypsies?”
There was something about her that made Miri want to make her happy. “Well,” she wavered, glancing down at her jeans and T-shirt. “Maybe we are, in a way.”
The girl looked positively thrilled. “That’s what I thought! Now, you mustn’t fret about me—I won’t tell a soul! I’m not like her.” She tipped her head toward the porch. “I just need to learn how to tell fortunes.” She gave Miri and Molly a dazzling smile and leaned forward confidingly. “See, ever since I was little, I wanted to run off and join the circus. You know, for adventure?” She nodded enthusiastically, and Miri, liking her, nodded back. “Don’t you think I’d be a good fortune-teller? I look like one in this nightgown, for sure. But—I don’t know how to do it. Tell fortunes, I mean,” she added hurriedly. “Which is a hitch. For a fortune-teller. So”—she smiled hopefully at Miri and Molly—“will you teach me?”
“How old are you?” blurted Molly in an odd, choked voice.
Miri glanced at her sister. It was sort of a rude question, in her opinion. Or maybe not. She couldn’t tell if the girl was old enough to make it a rude question.
The girl didn’t seem offended. “I’m seventeen!” she exclaimed. “I know it’s awful old to be running off to the circus, but”—she spread her hands out helplessly—“it’s a lifelong dream, and here you are, Gypsies. I don’t meet so many Gypsies that I can let you slip through my fingers.” She smiled. “Do you tell the cards?” she asked, turning to Molly. “Or read palms?” She laughed, thrusting out her palm. “What does my future hold?”
Molly recoiled as if the girl had tried to hit her. “Molly?” asked Miri, alarmed. “What’s the matter?”
Molly didn’t answer. She backed away fearfully.
The girl looked concerned. “You needn’t worry,” she said. “I know I look crazy, but I’m not. Really.” Her chuckle came, warm and bubbling. “I’m only dressed like this to aggravate Flo—that’s the one who was hollering at you. She’s got a caller coming, and I’m ruining her good impression.” She smiled mischievously and fluffed her long gown. “But it’s awful comfortable. I might just keep on wearing them. People already think I’m a little peculiar.”
“It looks good on you,” said Miri.
“Not exactly ladylike.” The girl smiled.
“Well,” said Miri, looking down, “same here.”
“Oh,” the girl said airily. “Gypsies can get away with anything. Now, won’t you please tell my fortune? I can pay you, I certainly can. If you promise not to stir a step, I can just run right inside and get my glove box. That’s where I keep my—”
“What year is it?” demanded Molly. Miri goggled at her sister; why was she being so strange? She seemed almost angry. Usually, Molly was the friendly one, the chatty one—she talked to anyone, including grumpy bus drivers and strict teachers—but now, for some reason, she had turned abrupt and rude.
The girl giggled. “Law, you must be Gypsies. 1918.” For the first time, her eyes fell on Cookie, draped snoozily in the crook of Miri’s arm. “Ooh, look at that little darling.” She reached to rub the kitten’s downy fur, causing an explosion of purring.
“You want to hold her?” asked Miri.
“Can I?”
In answer, Miri transferred Cookie into the girl’s arms.
“I just love cats,” the girl confided. “I used to have one named Larimer—don’t ask me why—he was just the smartest thing—”
“We have to go!” blurted Molly. “Now.” She whirled around to Miri. “We have to go, right? We’re late. Come on.” She turned and walked swiftly away through the trees.
“Molly!” cried Miri, scandalized by her sister’s behavior. “Sorry,” she apologized to the girl.
Her eyes, hurt, were on Molly’s receding back. “Guess she thinks I’m peculiar, too,” she murmured. “Well. Here.” She returned Cookie to Miri’s arm.
Miri tried to make up for Molly’s bad manners. “I guess I have to go. Um, maybe we’ll see you later.”
The girl nodded sadly. “Yes, of course. Delightful to make your acquaintance.”
Chapter 4
Inside the barn, Miri tried again. “Just tell me.”
Molly lifted her face from her hands, shook her head miserably, and dropped her face into her hands once more.
The brief glimpse was not heartening. Miri had never seen Molly so defeated. Molly, the brave, the daring, the confident. Molly, who gritted her teeth and got on with it. Molly, whose nerves of steel Miri envied every day of her life—suddenly, for no reason Miri could see, she was overcome. Horst, the tyrant of her former life, had done everything he could to break her, but the worst Horst could dish up had only made Molly more rebellious and defiant. Never despairing. For the twentieth time, Miri reviewed the events of the previous hour, trying to find the source of her sister’s trouble. 1918. Was there something the matter with it? Nothing came to mind. Was there something bad about fortune-telling …?
As she nosed among empty stalls and pieces of old machinery, Cookie was encountering a variety of exciting odors: hay, rust, cows, soil, and—ah!—the alluring fragrance of mice! Just in time for lunch! Cookie pursued the mousy perfume into a corner, where she crouched, preparing her attack. A low growl rattled in her throat, and she leaped forward ferociously to do battle with a mouse, which turned out to be her own tail. Miri nudged Molly. “Look.”
Molly glanced up and nodded dully.
“It’s better if we do stuff together, Mols. Just tell me.”
Molly looked at her.
“How terrible can it be?”
Silence.
“I don’t get it!” Miri broke out. “She was just a nice girl. So w
hat?”
Molly’s voice was low. “You don’t know who she was?”
It was the first thing she’d said in almost an hour, and Miri jumped at it. “How would I know? She could be anyone! She could be a neighbor! She could be a relative! Heck, she could be Flo’s sister, for all I know!” Suddenly, she stopped, and her hand flew to her mouth. Flo’s sister. Flo’s sister was— “Your mother,” she whispered. “She’s your mother. Oh gosh. I get it.”
Miri didn’t know much about Molly’s mother, her first mother. Her name was—Miri hunted through her memory and found it—Maudie. And she was dead. By the time Miri had met Molly in 1935, Maudie had been dead a long time. That’s all Miri knew.
Molly nodded, her mouth folded tight and her eyes filled with tears. At the sight of her tears, Miri began to chew on her knuckle. Molly didn’t cry very often. Even when she dropped the bathroom scale on her toe, she didn’t cry. But now her thick eyelashes were beaded, and Miri felt her own throat grow tight in sympathy. “I guess you haven’t seen her in a long time, huh?”
Molly rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ve never seen her.”
“Never?” Miri slipped her hand around Molly’s. “Were you little when she—um—” She didn’t want to say it. Saying it made it real.
“She died when I was born,” said Molly.
“Ohh.” Miri grimaced. That was bad.
“Yeah. My fault.” Molly blew out a long breath.
Miri couldn’t allow that. “No! Don’t think that! You didn’t do it!”
Molly looked haunted. “Yes, I did. There’s no getting around it. She died when she had me.”
Miri couldn’t think of anything comforting to say. That nice girl was going to die. It hurt to think about it.
“She wanted to know her fortune,” Molly whispered. “It’s a pretty bad fortune.”
Miri nodded. It was a pretty bad fortune.
“She seemed nice, didn’t she?” Molly asked.
“Really nice. And funny, too. You look like her.”
Molly shook her head. “No. She’s beautiful.”
“Well, you look like her, and you’re pretty pretty now. So you’ll probably be beautiful when you’re seventeen.”
“Seventeen,” repeated Molly. “She’s only got six years to live. A little more than six years.”
“She dies when she’s twenty-three?” Miri asked unhappily. “Only twenty-three?” That was young. Young to have a baby. Very young to die.
Molly looked across the hayloft, blinking rapidly.
“Listen,” urged Miri. “Listen, let’s”—she searched for something, anything to make it better“—let’s go ask your grandma!” The words fell out of her mouth before she knew she was going to say them, but instantly, she knew she was right. Grandma May knew magic inside and out. She’d have an idea, maybe even a solution. “Maybe there’s something we can do!” She gave Molly’s shoulder a squeeze. “I mean, think about it—what do we know for sure? We know that magic is a way of setting things right. Right?” she prodded, and Molly nodded. “So maybe we’re here to do something for your—your mother.” She tripped over the word. It sounded wrong when it didn’t mean their mother. “It’s possible, anyway.”
Molly whirled around. “Why, sure!” she cried, her tear-damp face brightening. “Of course! You’re totally right! That’s what we’re here for!” She shook her head, wondering at herself. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I mean, it’s obvious, right? Grandma knows everything! She’s magic herself! She’s bound to have a solution. My gosh, I can’t believe I wasted all this time!” Filled with new purpose, Molly jumped to her feet. “Come on. Grab Cookie. Let’s go.”
The distance between the barn and the house was at least fifty miles. That’s what it looked like to Miri, anyway. She paused beside the barn, eyeing the wide lawn and trying not to think about Flo and her shotgun.
The two girls had edged out the barn door and gone toward the corner nearest the house. Their appearance caused pandemonium among the chickens, but then, everything caused pandemonium among chickens. They sidled past the pigs, who watched them with utter boredom, and a dignified goose, who decided that they weren’t worth biting. Now, though, they had arrived at the point of no return: To get to Molly’s grandmother, inside the house, they had to cross the open lawn.
Molly was undaunted. In fact, she was fizzing with determination. “Just aim for those rhododendrons there under the window,” she whispered, pointing to a large window on the side of the house, which Miri recognized as belonging to the living room. “The bushes will cover us all the way from that side around to the front stairs.”
“Okay.” Cookie squirmed, and Miri clutched her firmly. “Let’s go on the count of three,” she whispered, trying to work up her nerve.
Molly turned, and Miri caught a flash of her usual fearless smile. “Three,” she whispered, and sprinted toward the house.
“Molly!” groaned Miri in an undertone, and raced after her, hoping Flo was far away.
Seconds later, she was ducking into the rhododendron bushes. They had no flowers now, in the fall, but their leaves grew thick and full against the sides of the house, and as Molly had predicted, the two of them were well hidden within. Molly crept forward, taking the lead, and Miri followed, concentrating on careful, silent steps.
Cookie squirmed again, desperate to free herself, to leap into this paradise of branches and climb! Wildly, she wiggled against the arm that imprisoned her, only to have it clamp around her even more tightly. Branch after tempting branch flashed by, unclimbed, and Cookie decided that the time had come to deploy the ultimate weapon. She dug her claws into the arm.
“Yow!” squeaked Miri, and tripped over a root. She fell with a crash into a tangle of branches. The noise was astounding, even without the shriek that she managed to keep bottled up inside her.
Molly pulled her quickly from the thicket to crouch against the house. Are you okay? she mouthed. Miri nodded, trying to ignore a stinging something on her forehead, but there was no time to investigate, because a window above them rose with a rumble. They froze as a girlish voice said, “Why, it must’ve been some awful animal of my sister’s.”
“Didn’t know you had a sister.” A deep man’s voice moved toward the window.
“Oh my, yes!” tinkled the girl. Miri and Molly shared questioning looks. Could this be Flo? It sounded like her, but with frosting. “She’s just a child, of course. And she’s wild about animals, ’specially cats—and pigs, too, if you can believe that. She talks to them just like they’re people. Isn’t that crazy?”
Miri could almost see Flo shaking her head in aren’t-children-silly amazement.
“I’m real fond of pigs myself,” the man said. “Nobody gives them any credit, but think of it—they spend their lives eating and rolling in the mud. They don’t work and they don’t fight. That’s pretty smart in my book.”
Flo burbled out a lot of fake-sounding giggles. “Aren’t you a card!” she trilled. Miri and Molly rolled their eyes at the idea of Flo trying to be sweet. “Now, I want to show you something I just know you’ll be interested in, a military man like you!” Her voice faded as she moved away.
“I’m not a military man anymore,” he called after her. There was no answer, and Miri and Molly heard him sigh. They smiled at each other. The poor guy, stuck with Flo.
Back she came, tap, tap, tap. “My grandfather’s medals, from the War Between the States—”
“We call it the Civil War,” interrupted the man drily.
Giggle, titter. “You Yankees! Anyway, see, he got the Southern Cross—that’s this here.”
Molly batted her eyelashes at Miri, who batted hers back.
“Very nice,” muttered the man.
“But here’s what’s interesting,” enthused Flo. “Look at this!”
There was a silence. “From Lee,” the man said. This time he did sound a little interested.
“Yes. General Robert E. Lee, command
er in chief—see, he signed it here. See?” Miri could picture Flo shoving whatever it was in the man’s face. “It’s a safe-conduct. See? ‘Bearer must in no way and for no purpose be detained from the pursuit of his duties. Let neither his costume nor his demeanor cause his arrest. He is in my service. General R. E. Lee.’ Now,” cried Flo, “don’t you think that means my granddaddy was a spy?”
“Well,” said the man slowly, “could be. Looks like he was up to some kind of mischief for the Confederacy, anyway.”
“Ooh, it just makes me shiver to think of it,” squealed Flo.
Miri tossed imaginary curls about as Molly waved an imaginary fan and smiled coyly. Miri heaved a silent but passionate sigh. Molly indicated that she might throw up any second. They found themselves so entertaining that they missed the man’s answer.
Flo’s voice drifted out: “—for some tea and cookies. I baked them special for you.”
Molly and Miri gave identical guilty starts. Cookie! Where was she? As the window above them was drawn down, they twisted about, hunting for a little white kitten among the branches. “She must have jumped away when I tripped,” whispered Miri, peering through the leaves. “Cookie!” she whisper-shouted.
“There!” said Molly with relief, pointing. And there was Cookie, a tiny lion in the underbrush, her eyes gleaming, her tail stiff, preparing an attack on a bird that pecked in the nearby dirt.
“Cookie!” Miri whispered, reaching for her.
Alarmed by the crackling of leaves, Cookie she took a wild, spitting lunge at her prey. The bird flew off in annoyance.
“Here, kitty!” called Miri in a strangled whisper as Cookie, embarrassed by her failure, pretended to be deeply interested in the cleanliness of her leg. “Here, kitty!”
Cookie glanced at her and then trotted out of the rhododendrons toward the front stairs. She felt a nap coming on. There was sure to be comfortable spot on the porch.
“Oh heck,” sighed Miri. “Now we have to go get her.”
Molly assessed the situation like a general. “Okay,” she said, half to herself. “Okay. No problem. We’ll just go up the stairs, grab her off the porch, and just sort of tiptoe in the front door.”